


Bath-time Dead End

by Dragoness Eclectic (DragonessEclectic)



Series: Stunticon Stories [6]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Beyt al-Octane, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:23:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1411438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonessEclectic/pseuds/Dragoness%20Eclectic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Stunticons meet Octane's Harem for the first time when orders send them to the Decepticon refinery in Libya.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bath-time Dead End

Dead End was certain he wouldn't enjoy Libya. One, he would be stuck on base with nothing to do, no one intelligent to talk to, and nowhere to go--unless there was some enemy action, in which case he would be involved in some pointless fight that would probably get him killed. Two, Libya was hot, dry, and full of dust and sand that liked to blow across the desert in humongous storms, strip paint and choke air intakes. Dead End fully expected to be thoroughly miserable there. 

Three, Motormaster, Wildrider, and Drag Strip would be stuck on base with him, equally bored and miserable. With luck, at least Breakdown would find a corner where no one would look at him, but a bored and irritable Motormaster would make up for any possible good points. Instead of looking out for Seekers playing "Beat the Lone Stunticon", he'd have to look out for Motormaster playing "Pulverize the Nearest Moving Object" all day long. In a flat spot in a desert.

And why were they going to Libya? They were going to Libya because Octane had the twitches about his next-door neighbors--COBRA or the IRA or the Hezbollah or some other unpronounceable name, and the Combaticons, his usual reinforcements, were off to Monacus for R&R. Starscream somehow got hold of that information and managed to get under Megatron's armor with it, implying that the lack of support for their most productive non-destroyed energon source demonstrated Megatron's continuing unfitness to lead the Decepticons. So it was off to sunny Libya for the Stunticons via the Astrotrain express.

Megatron's orders had been explicit: "Don't let _anything_ interfere with energon production or transport! That includes _you_ and the rest of the Stunticons, Motormaster! Am I clear?"

"Perfectly clear, mighty leader!" Motormaster had growled; Dead End knew that the big truck took personally any criticism from Megatron, implied or potential or otherwise. He'd resent it and simmer beneath the implied insult, and take it out on the rest of them as soon as Motormaster had the chance. Dead End wondered if he could talk Breakdown into sabotaging Drag Strip's engine so the yellow car would be the one left in Motormaster's reach when they all hit the ground rolling.

# # #

Astrotrain touched down smoothly on the base runway, kissing the ground so gently that Dead End only knew they'd landed when Astrotrain's nose dropped to horizontal.

"A word of advice, Stunticons," Astrotrain said from his internal speakers as he rolled to a stop. "Take good care of Octane's... crew. They keep this place running smoothly--and that keeps Megatron happy." 

_Which means none of us get a pissed-off Megatron shoving a fusion cannon in our face,_ Dead End filled in the unspoken thought for himself.

"Astro-traaain! _Es salaam 'alekum_!" A high, shrill cry filled the air as Astrotrain's side bay door opened. "Who you bring us today? Who guest of _Beyt'u al-Octane_?"

Curious and impatient, all five Stunticons tried to jam through the door at once, resulting in Motormaster backhanding Drag Strip and Wildrider to opposite ends of Astrotrain's cargo bay as the big truck shoved his way past Dead End and Breakdown. The latter two followed on Motormaster's heels. He stepped out and stared balefully at the khaki jeep pulled up beside Astrotrain's nose. Four humans in light blue uniforms accompanied the vehicle--one driving, one standing up in the right passenger seat, and two manning a rocket launcher in the back. Motormaster's optics brightened at the sight of the anti-tank weapon--fortunately for everyone concerned, it wasn't pointed at either Astrotrain or Motormaster. Drag Strip and Wildrider emerged in time for Wildrider to collide with Breakdown, who was stepping back behind Motormaster at the sight of the humans.

"Hello, Talifeyah!" Astrotrain answered in his doubly-resonant voice, and transformed as he spoke. "Your guests, and additional forces, are the Stunticons--Motormaster, their leader; the yellow one is Drag Strip; the dark red one, Dead End; the black one, Wildrider; and the other one is Breakdown." 

"Where's Octane?" Motormaster growled. "And who are these squishies?"

"They are Octane's crew," answered Astrotrain, sounding mildly amused. "Talifeyah is their leader."

" _Es salaam 'alekum,_ Mo'tormaster, and welcome to _Beyt'u al-Octane_!" The human standing up--Talifeyah--bowed in Motormaster's direction. " _Shaykh al-Octane_ awaits you, but we poor hosts indeed if we did not insist that you refresh yourselves after your long journey--and never has the House of _al-Octane_ been remiss in hospitality!"

Dead End noted what Motormaster didn't care enough to notice; the human crew were all female, and wore white head-scarves--the _hijab,_ common throughout the Middle East-- and veils over sky blue fatigues. His curiosity was piqued; this was more intriguing that he'd expected. 

"Astrotrain, Fatima awaits you in Hangar Two. If your orders permit, we would be honored if you would rest the night here," Talifeyah told the big triple-changer.

Astrotrain smirked. "Too bad, my orders don't permit. Shame--I'd rather have Fatima give me a good PM than listen to a Certain Someone's supercilious comments next time I get holes shot in me." The powerful shuttle mech strode off toward the indicated hangar. He turned to look back for a second. "There's some nasty weather to the west. Saw it coming in."

Talifeyah waved, then inclined her head toward Motormaster again. "Mo'tormaster, Hangar One reserved for you and your team. If you permit me to accompany you to the hangar..." She gestured across the field at another large, quonset-like building.

Motormaster looked down at the tiny flesh creature with something vaguely like puzzlement. Dead End could guess why: Humans didn't stand before Motormaster and offer him hospitality--they ran from him, screaming in terror at the approaching end of their miserable lives. Astrotrain of all mechs did _not_ happily wander off at the direction of a fleshling! What in the Pit was going on here?

The big gray mech looked around; to the south lay the oil wells, pipelines and energon processing machinery; to the east and north, the bulk of Octane's base. Double fences with triple concertina wire bounded the perimeter; here and there were concrete humps that hinted at buried, armored gun emplacements. Atop the airfield's control tower there appeared to be a set of missile launchers and some kind of multi-barreled autogun. Very little moved under the hot Saharan sun. 

"This place was designed to defend against _fleshlings_ ," Motormaster sneered. "What does Octane think he'll do against Autobots?" he asked no one in particular. 

Talifeyah suddenly raised a hand to one ear as if listening, then pointed off to the west. "Mo'tormaster! Go fast! _Al-Hubuub--_ sandstormcoming now!" The khaki jeep and its passengers peeled out and zipped off toward Hangar One. 

Dead End glanced in the direction she was pointing--an ugly band of yellow-brown climbed the western sky. Motormaster glared at it and his Stunticons. "STUNTICONS, TRANSFORM AND MOVE OUT!"

The Stunticons charged in formation after the jeep, Breakdown and Dead End to Motormaster's left, Drag Strip and Wildrider to his right. They quickly overtook the speeding jeep, bracketing it neatly between Breakdown and Motormaster. Motormaster narrowed the gap, scraping the speeding jeep and pushing it against Breakdown.

Metal screamed and sparks flew; the driver struggled briefly but brought the jeep back under control. Her veil fluttered in the breeze, and she glared at Breakdown with fierce dark eyes. Breakdown shied away, releasing the jeep from the Stunticon vise.

Stunticons and the jeep skidded into the open hangar together, tires squealing as each desperately braked in time to not smash the rear wall of the hangar. As soon as the vehicles cleared the door, more fatigue-clad people seized hold of the hangar bay doors and started pushing them closed. A small blue and green Decepticon ran between the closing doors, turned, grabbed hold of one of the doors and shoved it quickly closed.

Dead End barely had time to note that they were in a large, well-appointed maintenance hangar when the sky turned yellow, then dark and the wind slammed into the building with a sound like a hurricane. Sand smote the curved metal roof like a tropical downpour.

The interior lights came on, and Talifeyah stood on the jeep and shouted orders in Arabic. Motormaster transformed, as did the other Stunticons, and looked around, his head almost brushing the peak of the roof. Several women carried long rolls of some fabric to the bay doors and started wedging it into the bottom.

Dead End trundled over to the jeep. "What are they doing?"

"Blocking the bottom gap. If we do not, there will be six inches of dust in here before the storm is over," the driver answered as she tucked her veil back into place. Already, a fine mist of dust floated in the still air of the hangar. "As it is, we will be digging out."

Now that he was closer, Dead End could see that all four women carried short-barreled weapons of some kind, and that Talifeyah was wearing a headset and a large, curved sword across her back. Talifeyah clapped her hands sharply. " _La!_ Not to be standing around! See to our guests!" She looked up at Motormaster. "Energon, finest kind we have for you! Eat, rest, have a bath--we take care of you!"

"Bath?" Motormaster said, echoed by Dead End, Wildrider and Drag Strip. Breakdown was too busy sidling away from the jeep and its occupants to notice.

"You want bath first or drink first?" Talifeyah asked, pointing alternately at the large wash-racks across the hangar, and another jeep, this one carrying a small stack of energon cubes in its cargo bed.

"BATH!" yelled Wildrider and Drag Strip as they dashed for the wash racks, followed less noisily by Dead End and Breakdown. Motormaster rumbled his truck engine and said, "Both. Gimme a cube." He stepped in front of the approaching jeep and scooped an energon cube out of the back, then drained it in one long draft.

"Good stuff, ain't it?" asked the small blue and green Decepticon as he reached for a cube. 

" _La!_ " Talifeyah picked up a jack handle from her jeep's floor and smacked the Micromaster lightly across the knuckles. "That for Stunt'cons, Roughstuff! You go commissary!"

"It's the middle of a freakin' sandstorm! I ain't goin' out in that! It'd strip the paint clean off me, and I'd get sand in everything!" Roughstuff complained. "Hey, Motormaster, can I mooch one off you, huh?"

Motormaster looked down at the loud Micromaster, violet optics glowing. He smirked sadistically. "No." He turned toward the wash racks, catching Roughstuff with the side of his foot and sending him skidding across the concrete floor.

Roughstuff picked himself up as Motormaster walked off. He glowered at the Stunticon leader's back. "Slaggin' rusthead!" he muttered to himself. "He's as bad as they said," he told Talifeyah. "Watch yourself."

"Al-Octane warned me of this; we must be careful to stay on his good side," Talifeyah answered.

"Believe me, that one has _no_ good side!" Roughstuff answered. 

_"Insha'allah_." Talifeyah shrugged.

Over at the wash racks, Dead End heard none of this conversation, nor did he care. He transformed back to his Porsche form, and simply idled, letting his engines purr softly as the women of the House of Al-Octane rinsed and soaped and scrubbed him thoroughly. They chattered in their lyrical language, and giggled whenever he let his engine purr especially loud, or when one of them tossed a wet sponge at another, or for no reason at all that Dead End could see.

The wash was followed by hand-drying with chamois rags, and a coat of polish, and buffing, and _another_ coat of polish, and again.... Dead End decided he might enjoy his stay in Libya after all.

_\-- FIN --_

**Author's Note:**

> _Author's Note: I don't believe in 'Carbombya'; no such place for such an idiotic, offensive euphemism in my universe. It's Libya. Period. Talifeyah's English is less-than-perfect; she slips into using Arabic grammar with English vocabulary. Arabic does not have a "to be" verb, but indicates linking by juxtaposition._


End file.
